


The Shadow and the Soul

by DoreyG



Category: Batman: Arkham Asylum (Video Games), Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulbonds, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Community: comment_fic, M/M, Mentions of rough sex, Post-Coital, Unhealthy Relationships, alternate Universe - Soulmarks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2782538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Aren’t you going to <i>ask</i>?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shadow and the Soul

“Aren’t you going to _ask_?”

His lips tighten, his back to the bed as he pulls his gauntlets on – the last pieces of armour, securely in place again, “what is there to ask about?”

“What is there to _ask_ about, he _asks_ ,” there’s a cackle, from the direction of the bed, a scrape of insanity that he _should_ be used to by now – he doesn’t turn, doesn’t give the clown the luxury of seeing his mouth pulled tight, “the _mark_ , Batsy. The little _thing_ we _share_?”

He’s been overcoming the urge to freeze for most of his life, ever since he saw his parents bleeding so slowly out on the floor. He overcomes it this time too, does a final check of all his equipment to make sure that not a single sign remains, “we’re not talking about it.”

“ _Aren’t_ we?” Another cackle. A whoop, a crackle, a _screech_ like nails down a chalkboard. It just confirms his theory – the clown can’t be human, _no_ human could possibly make a sound like that, “so _authoritative_. Reminds me of that time you pinned my wrists to the bed, when was it…?”

“Shut _up_ ,” he spits, before he can stop himself. Realizes his mistake, the give that he swore never to let show, only a second later and strides briskly towards the window to cover it, “nobody talks about it, it’s not a subject fit for polite society.”

“Because it’s _taboo_ ,” The Joker’s voice moves closer, _closer_ \- trailing him like a hunter in the night. It’s only the knowledge, won from long years of brutal struggles, that the Joker is still sprawled naked upon the bed that keeps him from spinning around and showing his hand entirely, “but c’mon, Batsy. _C’mon_. Haven’t we moved _past_ all that? Haven’t we gone _beyond_ the boundaries of polite society? Haven’t you _broken_ -?”

“Not this one,” he grinds out, and finds that he’s gripping the window sill so hard that it’s cracking underneath his grip – leaving faint lines of sawdust patterned haphazardly over his gloves, “some things are taboo for a _reason_.”

“Because of fear,” the Joker muses, and offers another laugh – sharper this time, pointed, gnawing its way right down to his very _bones_ , “because of _fear_ , and _horror_ , and the kind of inherent _irrationality_ that keeps little boys _dreaming_. The kind of inherent _insanity_ that leads those little boys to _follow_ their dreams, their _hearts_ , and grow _wings_.”

The air catches in his throat.

“ _Bat_ wings.“

He spins, fists already clenching and eyes already wide behind the cowl-

The Joker is still on the bed, right where he left him. His limbs are long and pale, his hair stands out dirty green against the pillow and his eyes roll with that certain kind of madness that he really shouldn’t know so well. He’s still naked, bony and frail and _dangerous_ in every single line. Under his gaze he seems to grow in stature, several times – when he sits up the shift of muscle in his shoulders can only be called disturbing.

“ _Because_ ,” he offers casually, conversationally with a wicked smirk curving his lips, “you don’t want to admit the true reason for the way that you are, so you say that you _can’t_. That society _can’t_. You don’t want to admit that you followed your heart, just as surely as me, so you pretend that you _can’t_. You don’t want to _see_ -“

He can’t.

He turns back to the window, without another word. Wrenches it open and swings out into the night without a backwards glance, without even _listening_ to the Joker’s parting cackle.

He _can’t_.

…But he can, and the only way to deny it is to bury it deep. To squeeze his eyes shut, erasing the image of a neat black bat symbol right over the Joker’s heart, and swing on – off into the night, like the fearless hero he _can_ (allows himself to) be.


End file.
